Matthew's P.O.V
It's been hours since he refused to let me take him to the hospital. Thank God the shaking's stopped, and there's no sign of a fever. I finally let myself breathe a little easier. After soaking up enough of my pheromones, he passed out. Deep sleep. Every now and then he mumbles something, fragments of dreams he couldn't quite hold onto.
I reached out, brushing his face. Still damp with sweat. His skin felt clammy, and his hair was plastered to his temple. I had no idea what pushed him this far, but the dark circles under his eyes said enough, he hadn't been sleeping. Probably for days.
I watched him for a moment, then got up and let him rest.
While he slept, I wandered around his apartment. Just one bedroom, a tiny kitchen that looked untouched, and a living room with a couch facing the TV. Everything was neat. Too neat. Like it wasn't really lived in. Even the dining table had a thin layer of dust, he barely sat there.
